


Hip Mobility

by pinetreelady



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Canada, Developing Relationship, M/M, Offseason Shenanigans, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 22:02:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20238058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinetreelady/pseuds/pinetreelady
Summary: Sid’s gaze is fixed on Zhenya’s mouth. He steps closer so he’s flush against Zhenya, angling his face to press a soft kiss to Zhenya’s mouth, once, twice, lingering. Zhenya raises his hand to the back of Sid’s head, holding him in place, parting his lips and licking gently at Sid’s mouth. Sid slips his arm around Zhenya and presses even closer, opening his mouth and sucking on Zhenya’s lower lip. Zhenya’s breath stutters and if they’re going to go train with Andy, they need to stop this now.





	Hip Mobility

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to elisera and blacktofade for the beta reading and general encouragement. Thanks to sevenfists for the initial idea and enabling along the way! Thanks to zhenyabest for organizing Bottom Geno Week.

Zhenya wonders what he's gotten himself into, the first morning that he wakes up in Sid's Nova Scotia guest room in July.

Sid thumps on the door, and then pushes it open, tentatively. "G? You up?" 

Zhenya groans and squints toward the door, where Sid's standing with an earnest look on his face.

"You really don't want to be late. Andy's strict about punctuality. He'll make you run suicides or do extra push-ups for every minute late you are."

It's hard to believe that Andy would pull that kind of shit, and in the summer, and certainly he wouldn't do it to Sid, his golden child. Zhenya has to point that out. He blinks, and rubs his eyes. "Won't do to you, so won't do to me." 

"Like hell he won't," Sid says. "Believe me, once I got stuck behind a fucking dump truck on my way in; I was like two minutes late, max, and he made me stay an extra 15 minutes. I was sweating buckets. He has no mercy. And Nate laughed his ass off, it sucked."

Zhenya pushes himself upright. Ugh. "Fine."

He shoves himself out of bed and scratches his belly, yawning. When he looks toward the doorway, Sid's still hovering there. 

"You gonna watch while I get ready?" Zhenya asks, and Sid rolls his eyes.

"Come down for some breakfast," he says over his shoulder, and disappears down the hall.

Mercifully, Sid doesn't try to make conversation on their way to the gym. Zhenya shouldn't be nervous; he works out with Andy during the season, after all. But he's used to his own routines in the summer, his own trainer in Russia, and any hope he had about coming to Canada to spend time with Sid was squelched when Sid showed him to a guest room upon his arrival. But now’s not the time for that kind of thinking; Zhenya pushes it down ruthlessly. 

Andy's refreshingly basic. Zhenya's Russian trainer would call it boring, but Zhenya finds it comfortably familiar. Sometimes, Zhenya wonders if trainers make stuff up, with extra equipment and tools, just to make themselves feel important, or groundbreaking, or some shit. Apparently, Andy has no such compulsion, and Zhenya is silently grateful. 

That doesn’t mean his workouts are easy, and if this qualifies as _easing back into training_, then Zhenya doesn’t know what’s what.

Sid, of course, does every move flawlessly, but Andy tweaks Zhenya’s form again and again, straightening his back, making him watch his angles in the mirror, making him repeat a movement again and again until the proper form feels natural. It’s hard to believe that such minute adjustments make such a big difference. 

The last half hour, Andy devotes to guiding them through some thorough stretching.

"Make sure to stretch throughout the rest of your day, and especially before bed," Andy reminds them on their way out. “It’s virtually impossible to stretch _too much_,” and that's part of why Zhenya's here with Sid, because Sid won't let him skimp.

+

Zhenya wakes up sore the next day, despite the careful stretching he'd done. He goes gingerly down the stairs, into the kitchen to fix himself a cup of tea. It’s a little cool, and the warm mug feels good in his hands.

"Maybe I'm not do right, Sid," he complains, cup of tea in hand, wincing as he eases himself into the lounge chair next to Sid’s on the deck. "Why you're not sore?"

Sid opens his mouth to answer, but Zhenya holds up a hand. "I'm know, you just don't ever stop, you work out all the time, so of course you're not sore from yesterday."

"That's not true," Sid protests. "I took a whole month off."

Zhenya narrows his eyes. A likely story. "So you not go in and work with Andy, but you're work here in your gym. I know how you are, Sid." Sid was undoubtedly running and lifting and skating whenever he could, because he’s constitutionally unable to actually take time off.

Sid works out like he breathes, or sleeps, or eats. 

Zhenya's plenty active—he doesn’t know of a professional athlete who’s not. He gets restless even on vacation, needing to move; he swims, jogs, hikes, and he can't imagine his life without it. (He's also vain, and isn't ashamed to admit to himself that he doesn't want to become a fat, old former-athlete like so many others have before him, in addition to the inevitability of his encroaching baldness.) He'd skate every day, if he could, and has never lost the bone-deep rush of joy he gets every time he takes to the ice in a pair of skates with a stick in his hand. 

Training, though, is another matter entirely. He'd happily go the rest of his life without lifting another weight, except that he knows it's good for him. By now, he understands enough of sports medicine and the way a body works to realize that being stronger means he'll stay safer, he'll play longer, he'll recover from injuries faster. Maybe he’ll even age better. 

Still, the mandated break he gets from it, from right after the end of the season until summer training starts up—well, he enjoys it to the fullest.

Sid shrugs, looking modest. Zhenya would hate him, except for how much he wants him, despite how Sid’s keeping him at arm’s length. If silly banter about workout habits is the best he can get, Zhenya will lean into it, even if that does make him maybe a little pathetic. 

They'd texted through May and June, and danced around the idea of spending part of their summer together. Things were new between them, and the idea of spending time together outside the confines of their usual hockey schedule and spaces felt new and excitingly intimate, but also a little terrifying. What if they don't actually like each other when they're spending time outside of their usual routine?

But the idea of not seeing each other again until the preseason was equally unthinkable, so here Zhenya is, in Nova Scotia, with Sid, his gargantuan work ethic, and a slave driver of a summer trainer in the form of Andy O’Brien.

They finish their tea and Sid makes breakfast, yet again keeping Zhenya at arm’s length. They eat in companionable enough silence before heading into town again, because today’s a cardio day after yesterday’s strength training.

Zhenya quickly learns that there’s more running involved in Andy’s offseason training than there is in his during-the-season training, and Zhenya’s ill-prepared for it. 

“Wow, G, and I thought _I_ hated running,” Sid says.

Zhenya can’t bring himself to respond, because he knows whatever he says won’t be polite in the slightest. 

Zhenya’s used to getting his gym cardio done on the bike, supplemented by swimming and on-ice training. But Andy announced that he favors maneuverability training in the gym, running around obstacles, back and forth, until he’s dizzy, or hill-running in the park, and Zhenya’s heart sinks. He’ll try to be a good sport, but he’s dreading more of it, after yesterday. He’s not fast at running, not graceful in the slightest. He feels lumbering and awkward and it makes him crabby, as does knowing how he’ll feel tomorrow, no matter how well he stretches.

For the second time in his first few days here, he feels trepidation about why he’s come. Firstly, Sid stuck him in a guest room, and secondly he has to run. But Zhenya’s not a quitter, and so he grimly puts his head down and does what’s expected of him.

Zhenya’s exhausted in the afternoon, and he crashes in the guest room for awhile before emerging.

Sid’s solicitous when he comes back downstairs. “Did you take a nap?”

Zhenya shakes his head. He doesn’t want to fuck up his sleep schedule when he’s still fighting a touch of jet lag. “Not need,” he says, and changes the subject before Sid can press him. “What’s dinner? You want I’m help?”

“Yeah, you wanna help me prep some vegetables for the grill?”

Zhenya nods, and follows Sid into the kitchen.

They eat on the deck, and Zhenya cleans the dishes, and Sid takes him for a sunset ride in the boat. It could be romantic, but instead they’re just buddies. Zhenya refuses to mope about it, though. 

+

Sure enough, Zhenya staggers down to breakfast the next morning, again wincing at the stiffness and soreness.

"I'm stretch so much, why still so sore," he grouses.

Sid’s face creases in sympathetic lines. “Running sucks,” he says.

“Yeah,” Zhenya agrees. He’s glad he won’t have to do it again for a couple of days now. Today’s an actual rest day.

“You still up for a hike in the Provincial Park up the coast?” 

Zhenya grimaces, but he knows that a good hike will help chase away the soreness. Plus, it’ll be pretty so he’ll be distracted. “Yes, of course,” he says. 

“I don’t want to listen to you whine the whole time,” Sid says.

Zhenya feels stung. He opens his mouth to retort, but a quick look at Sid reveals an expression that says clearly that he’s chirping, not in earnest. So Zhenya narrows his eyes. “I’m not whiny one, Sid. You are.”

It’s a childish response, but Sid just laughs. 

“Where are you sore?” Sid asks.

“Ass,” Zhenya says.

Sid’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’m guessing your glutes are sore, not that you’re calling me an ass,” he said dryly. 

Zhenya gives him a sour look. “Hips, tight. I’m need to stretch there more.” Obviously Zhenya’s used to stretching his hips. Most hockey players seem to be in a constant state of war against their own tight hip flexors, even Sid. But he thinks in the array of new stretches that Andy was showing them yesterday, Zhenya got caught up in doing those and neglected the basics that he’s used to doing, and now everything hurts more.

“We could stretch together, if that would help,” Sid offers.

Zhenya barely refrains from rolling his eyes. “One more chance for you can boss me around, right?” 

A look Zhenya can’t decipher flits across Sid’s face, before he looks bland again. He shrugs. “Just a thought.” 

Zhenya’s used to having trainer hands on him, guiding him through stretches and ranges of motion, but the idea of Sid doing the same to him makes heat prickle up his back. 

It’s clear by now that they’re not picking up where they left off. They’d made out a lot and rubbed off on each other a grand total of twice, and Zhenya thought that all the texting that culminated in an invitation to train in Canada instead of waiting to see each other again in Pittsburgh in September meant—well, something. But it doesn’t appear that that’s the case.

Zhenya had hugged Sid when he’d arrived, and Sid had gripped him hard and was slow to let go. Zhenya had kissed the side of his head and Sid had stepped back far enough to meet his eyes and Zhenya had bent to kiss his sweet mouth, and Sid kissed him back at least briefly. But then Sid had stepped away, patting his side affectionately, and had given him a tour of his house, perfectly friendly.

Zhenya had tried not to feel rejected when Sid showed him a guest room. 

Today, the sun is shining, the air is clear and cool, and Zhenya chooses to focus not on feeling rejected, but instead hopeful that Sid wants to spend a day with him even if they aren’t training. Maybe, if he’s careful, Zhenya can woo Sid back into the comfortable place they were starting to reach, before the season came to its untimely end. He’ll treat Sid like a skittish cat; if Zhenya is quietly, consistently warm to him, Sid will reciprocate.

Sid packs food in a cooler and plenty of water, and takes Zhenya to a provincial park, where they hike, and Zhenya takes pictures on his phone to send to Mama and Papa, and then they climb back down to walk on the beach and wade in the ocean.

“Cold!” Zhenya yelps, and Sid openly laughs at him as he goes in deeper anyway. 

The shoreline is rugged and beautiful, and there aren’t many people around. The breeze off the water is comfortably cool, and it satisfies their off-day level of physical activity. They eat at a picnic table in the shade of an enormous tree, and then head back to Sid’s for an afternoon of fishing on his boat. 

It’s a good day, and Zhenya’s aches have faded to dullness instead of stiffening back up.

Still, after dinner, Sid starts the dishwasher, and then turns to face him. “You want me to help you stretch some, then?”

Zhenya should say no, but he’s weak. “Sure,” he says, ready to enjoy Sid’s hands on his body, however he can get them. 

They go out to Sid’s workout room, where the floor is padded, and Sid puts him on his back, pushing and prodding and muttering under his breath.

“Just like Stew, Sid,” Zhenya teases. Zhenya has long believed that Sid could himself be a trainer, or even an actual doctor, with his knowledge of anatomy and fitness.

Sid shoots him a narrow-eyed, inscrutable look, before focusing back on Zhenya’s tight hips.

“Like you better than Stew,” Zhenya adds, closing his eyes so he doesn’t have to see what Sid’s face looks like after he hears that. 

There’s a pause where Sid leaves his hands where they are, and he pushes a little harder on Zhenya’s knee, deepening the stretch. “I don’t know as much as Stew, I just—I just want to help, is all.”

Zhenya opens his eyes, then. Sid’s own eyes are downcast, fixed on his hands where they’re braced on Zhenya’s thigh and knee. Zhenya wishes his eyes were fixed on Zhenya’s ass, frankly. The sexual frustration is definitely building in a way it doesn’t when the Pens trainers are involved. 

Sid gently releases him from the stretch, and moves his knee back and forth, up and down, testing his range of motion. “I think that’s a little better,” he offers tentatively. “What do you think?”

Zhenya wriggles around a little, but it’s hard to tell, lying on his back on the floor. “Mm, I’m get up and walk around.” He climbs to his feet and walks the length of the room and back. He nods. “I’m thinking it’s better, thanks, Sid.” He lifts his knees up, one and then the other, and rolls his shoulders. His back cracks a little as he swings his arms. “Feels good.”

Sid has a pleased little smile. “Awesome.” Their gaze holds for a beat before Sid’s skitters away.

“How about the other side?”

Zhenya obediently gets back down on the floor in front of Sid. “Yes, you help again.” 

They go through the series of stretches again, and Zhenya enjoys the feeling of Sid’s hands on him, as well as the increased mobility and comfort that the stretching brings. 

+

The next morning, he wakes up early, and sure enough, he’s not as sore. He stretches for a few minutes, and then wanders downstairs. He can’t hear Sid anywhere, and there’s no note on the kitchen counter or the fridge. Hm. Maybe he went fishing, or into town for groceries? 

Zhenya decides to take advantage and heads out to the deck. There’s a morning chill, but the idea of a morning soak in the hot tub is too tempting. He runs back upstairs to grab a towel, and drops it in a chair on the deck along with his t-shirt. He dithers for a minute but decides to step out of his sleep shorts. Everyone knows hot tubs are better naked. 

He sighs and cranks the heat up a little. The slight remaining soreness in his muscles eases, and he slips down into the tub a little more. 

After a few minutes of drifting thoughts, he stretches his back and shoulders and climbs out, wrapping the towel around his waist and scooping up his discarded clothes.

Sid comes out onto the deck right afterwards, and Zhenya does a mental shrug. Who knows what’s going through Sid’s head. Zhenya may be too shy to make a move here at Sid’s house to initiate a return to their intimacy, but he’s not shy enough to hide what he wants. 

“How’re your hips this morning?” Sid asks him. 

Zhenya makes a so-so motion with the hand not holding his shirt. “Better, I’m think.”

Sid’s tongue darts out and wets his bottom lip. Zhenya can’t _not_ notice. “You, ah.” Sid clears his throat. 

The moment feels charged, suddenly.

Where had Sid been, anyway? Lying in wait to catch Zhenya? Zhenya hopes so.

“You want me to help stretch it again, now that you’re all warmed up from the tub?” Sid doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

Zhenya has a momentary thought that he wishes he were bold enough to drop his towel right there, to say—what?

Sid catches his lower lip between his teeth and meets Zhenya’s gaze. There’s a slight flush high on his cheeks that wasn’t there a moment ago.

Maybe Zhenya is bold enough, after all. 

He wants Sid, wants as much of him as Sid will give him. He wants to do more than rubbing off on each other and a handjob, and some making out. He wants to find out what, exactly, Sid likes in bed, what gets him off harder than anything else. Zhenya hopes that Sid will want to put his dick in Zhenya’s ass. Maybe he’s just nervous, like Zhenya is himself, about finding out what they like. 

Sid makes his way closer, and Zhenya’s hard pressed not to say that it feels a little predatory, a little like he’s being stalked. 

Zhenya’s heart kicks up a notch, and he draws a shaky breath.

Sid takes another step closer, and Zhenya forces himself to keep his hands hanging by his sides. 

“I know you haven’t been doing a lot of weights yet, but you—you look good, G,” Sid’s eyes trace down his shoulders, and Zhenya feels the weight of his gaze like a touch.

Zhenya’s barely kept his eyes to himself the whole two days that he’s been here, gaze lingering on the curve of Sid’s ass, the shape of his calves, the strength of his shoulders. It’s good to know that Sid’s been reciprocating the ogling.

Sid’s inching closer, and Zhenya doesn’t really know what’s happening, but he doesn’t want to spook Sid by reaching for him, much as he might like to. 

Zhenya’s not sure where Sid’s apparent change of heart is coming from, but he’s happy enough about it that he’s not going to reject it out of a sense of passive-aggressive one upmanship. 

Sid finally steps close enough to touch him, and he reaches out to trail his fingertips down Zhenya’s side, and Zhenya shivers despite himself. He tries to draw an even breath but it hitches audibly. Sid’s mouth twitches into the barest hint of a smirk.

Zhenya finally catches Sid’s arm by the elbow, holding his hand in place where it’s still warm and solid against the side of Zhenya’s belly. 

“What you’re want, Sid?” As much as Zhenya wants to get laid, he also wants an explanation. 

Sid winces a little, looking rueful. “I didn’t want you to think I was inviting you up here just, you know, for a booty call.”

Zhenya can’t help but let out a laugh. 

Zhenya wants to say, I want whatever you’ll give me, but it’s hard to make the words. 

There’s a chirp from Sid’s phone, resting on the counter, and Sid glances at the clock on the wall and swears. “We, ah. We have to eat and get ready to go,” he says, and Zhenya knows he’s not imagining the reluctance in Sid’s voice. 

Zhenya suppresses a groan. “You won’t skip today for do this now.” He’s resigned to it, but Sid takes him at his word.

Sid looks scandalized. “Of course not!”

“Only kidding, Sid. But later, we—” 

“Yes.” Sid’s gaze is fixed on Zhenya’s mouth. He steps closer so he’s flush against Zhenya, angling his face to press a soft kiss to Zhenya’s mouth, once, twice, lingering. Zhenya raises his hand to the back of Sid’s head, holding him in place, parting his lips and licking gently at Sid’s mouth. Sid slips his arm around Zhenya and presses even closer, opening his mouth and sucking on Zhenya’s lower lip. Zhenya’s breath stutters and if they’re going to go train with Andy, they need to stop this now. Zhenya reluctantly steps back.

Sid gives him a little shove. “You’d better go get dressed, I can’t concentrate on cooking when you’re only wearing a towel.”

“You started it,” Zhenya says, but then drops one more kiss on Sid’s temple before clutching his towel and fleeing upstairs to get dressed.

They keep their hands to themselves over breakfast: eggs, berries with cut-up melon, and some kind of delicious sausage hash with potatoes, onions, and peppers that Sid must have made last night and heated up just now. 

“So good, Sid,” Zhenya says, scooping the last of the hash onto his fork. 

Sid looks pleased, and sips his tea. Zhenya stacks his plate onto Sid’s, and takes them to the sink to rinse them before sticking them into the dishwasher. 

Zhenya thinks he’s pretty good at compartmentalizing, at shutting out noise and focusing on what’s in front of him. He has to do that during the playoffs, during international play, or the times when he’s not producing points at a rate he’d like. 

This is—harder. But he’s been infatuated and horny before, and still done what needs to get done; he can be an adult. 

Plus, Andy’s an observant guy, and Zhenya doesn’t necessarily want to tip his hand about his feelings about Sid, and certainly not before they've figured it out themselves.

Sid's subtlety needs some work, however. Zhenya can feel his eyes on him more than usual, and he knows Sid’s making excuses to bump into him or touch him casually more than he usually would. 

Zhenya puts his head down and does what Andy tells him to do, methodically lifting and bending and stretching. They have ice time today, so they will skate afterwards for a little cardio cooldown and for some stickhandling drills. No running, thank god.

Finally, though, they’re done, and Andy admonishes them once again to do their stretching. Sid gives him a level look and heat flashes through Zhenya. 

Zhenya nods at Andy seriously, though. “Sid helps me.”

Andy eyes them both sharply. “As long as it gets done. Good work today, guys. You know the drill, take it easy tomorrow, eat plenty of protein, keep stretching, and I’ll see you Thursday.”

Zhenya has the distinct sense that these reminders are directed at him, not at Sid, who’s surely internalized Andy's lessons on fitness and nutrition since adolescence. But Sid nods along earnestly, anyway, as if it’s not second nature to him. Zhenya refrains, barely, from rolling his eyes.

Getting in the car, picking up lunch, going back to Sid’s: it’s all ordinary, but it feels charged, like they’re waiting for something. Or maybe that’s just Zhenya.

They sit side-by-side on Sid’s deck, under the big umbrella, inhaling their lunches and sucking down water: refueling after the workout. Once the edge is off, Zhenya eats more slowly, enjoying the breeze off the lake, pleasant and dry. Zhenya gets up when they’re done, and takes their take-out containers into the house to rinse and put into recycling. The kitchen feels dark, and Zhenya blinks for a moment to let his eyes adjust.

He wonders how they get back to where they were this morning before they left. The sliding door opens behind him and he turns to see Sid regarding him.

“Want to get in the tub again, and then do some more stretching?”

Zhenya has to clear his throat a little to say, “Yeah.”

Zhenya’s not in the mood to play swimsuit chicken, so he refuses to overthink it and just puts on his trunks. He can always take them off if it turns out Sid’s getting in naked. But no, Sid’s got trunks on, too, and he’s testing the temperature when Zhenya comes back out the sliding door onto the deck. 

“It’s good?” He asks, dumping his towel on a nearby chair.

“Yeah,” Sid says. “I put it warmer to help loosen things up. We’ll get out and stretch, and we can turn it back down if we just want to hang out later.” He swishes the water with his hand, and adds, “How do things feel after today’s workout?”

Zhenya shrugs. “Not bad. Tired. Hope I’m not so sore tomorrow, like yesterday, you know.”

“Well, we’ll do what we can, eh?”

This conversation is inane. Zhenya climbs into the tub and sinks down, sighing. “Is nice.” 

Sid clambers in after him. Zhenya kind of zones out, and Sid nudges him a little while later. “Let’s stretch now, before you fall asleep.”

Sid spreads out a couple of luxuriously thick towels right out on the deck, under the shade of the awning, and Zhenya lies down on them. It’s surprisingly comfortable. His back cracks as he stretches out, and he sighs in satisfaction. He raises his knees and crosses one leg over the other, pulling his leg toward his chest. 

“You want me to lean on you?” Sid asks, dark eyed and intent.

“Yeah,” Zhenya says, and Sid presses into him. It deepens the stretch, and Zhenya takes a slow breath in through his nose, then lets it out slowly, borderline-painful stretch resolving into satisfying. Sid’s probably counting how long to hold the stretch, so Zhenya lets his mind just float, concentrating on his body and the way his muscles feel, warm and loose. 

Still, the position is vulnerable, almost suggestive, and he blurts out, almost without thinking: “You have reason you want me stretched this way?”

Sid flashes him a look. “Like, do I have an ulterior motive?”

Yes, that’s the expression Zhenya was looking for. Zhenya smirks at him. “Well?”

Sid lifts his chin. “Maybe you’ll find out.” He releases Zhenya’s knee, guides his foot back down to the floor, and picks up his other leg, pushing his knee toward his chest again. 

“What you like, Sid?” Zhenya asks, still pushing. 

Sid increases the pressure against Zhenya’s leg, leaning in, and Zhenya breathes through the stretch. 

“I. Ah.” Sid lifts a shoulder. “You asking about, like, top or bottom?” His eyes flick to Zhenya’s, and then away.

Zhenya smiles, and his belly goes a little molten. “Yes. That’s what I’m ask.”

Sid bites his lip, and releases Zhenya’s leg. He’s lying with his knees bent, on his back, and he props an elbow behind his head so he can focus on Sid’s face better. 

“I mean. I’m good either way, but I—” he blows out a long breath, like he’s steadying himself. Zhenya stays quiet. “I think you have a great ass, G, and I’d love it if you’d let me—” 

Zhenya lets his smile fade, trying to look warm and happy. “I’m like both, too, Sid, but I’m really like it if you want to put your dick in my ass.” 

Sid, predictably, looks a little shocked by his vulgarity. It’s almost funny how after literal decades of locker room crudeness, he’s not entirely unflappable. Zhenya would chirp him for it, but he’d really rather stay on task. 

The shock apparently wears off quickly, though, and Sid smiles, crooked and devastating. “Oh yeah,” he says, and promptly gets up and heads inside.

What the fuck, Zhenya wonders, and he blinks up at the awning. 

Hardly a moment later, Sid’s back, and he drops a bottle of lube on Zhenya’s chest. Zhenya picks it up and squints at it, to cover for the fact that the blood is suddenly pulsing in his ears. They’re really doing this.

“Yeah,” he says to Sid, and scrambles up off the floor. “Bed?”

Sid takes his hand and pulls him through the door and toward the stairs.

Sid leads him directly into his room, no more of this guest room bullshit, and hesitates once they’re through the doorway, so Zhenya takes charge. He lets go of Sid’s hand and goes over to the bed, shoves down his swim trunks and lets them lie on the floor, then lies down on his back on the bed, lube clutched in his fist. He holds it out to Sid, and smiles at him. 

Sid’s breath catches, and he steps out of his own trunks on the way over, and Zhenya watches his approach hungrily. He takes the lube and climbs on top of Zhenya, his warm, solid body a welcome weight against Zhenya’s. He hisses when their dicks bump, and Sid wriggles a little against him and then lowers his mouth for a kiss. 

Zhenya gets lost in kissing, reveling in the feeling of their mouths meeting and parting, quiet and soft in the afternoon light of Sid’s bedroom. Enough time has lapsed since the last time they did this that Zhenya gets a little lost in the novelty, before familiarity takes hold again. Sid’s mouth is a revelation, almost enough to distract him from his dick and the lingering anticipation of Sid being willing to finger him or, hopefully, even fuck him.

Still, eventually Sid pulls away, kisses along his jaw, and straddles Zhenya’s hips. His eyes look dark and interested as he sweeps his hands down Zhenya’s shoulders and arms, then he pinches at Zhenya’s nipples and Zhenya squirms under him. 

Sid smirks, “Oh, you like that?” But he scoots his ass down onto Zhenya’s thighs, and leans in to kiss his chest and mouth at his nipples, before kissing down his sternum to his abs. 

Zhenya jerks. “Tickles, Sid,” he complains. Sid replies by trailing light fingertips down Zhenya’s sides and making him twitch more, involuntary. 

Zhenya swears at him, and bats at his hands. 

Sid smiles and reaches for Zhenya’s dick with one hand while still moving backwards, and he lowers his head to press a wet kiss to the head of Zhenya’s dick. Zhenya groans, and Sid pulls off. 

“Where’d that lube get to,” he asks, casting around, and Zhenya slaps the bed where he thinks they dropped it, picks up the bottle, and thrusts it at Sid.

“Impatient?” he teases.

Zhenya draws in a shuddering breath. “Maybe. You make me wait, I’m ready, it’s not my fault.”

Sid shakes his head, a fond look on his face, and squirts out some lube and takes Zhenya’s dick back in his hand. Zhenya gasps at the sensation: cold, but the slick slide makes his toes curl. Sid leans back down and takes the head of Zhenya’s dick in his mouth again, and his hand is exploring while he licks delicately at Zhenya’s foreskin, takes his balls in his hand, rolls them gently, before releasing them and pressing at the tender skin behind them. Zhenya shivers in anticipation as Sid circles his hole with a slick fingertip, gentle, teasing pressure that’s maddening but delicious.

Zhenya’s never counted patience among his many virtues, though, and he squirms. “Sid,” he complains. 

Sid laughs, low. He takes his hand away, but it’s only to add more lube, and he bends again to put a gentle kiss on Zhenya’s dick, and then shifts to free one of Zhenya’s legs, giving him more room to work. “Here’s where that stretching really pays off, G,” he says, voice a little hoarse.

Obligingly, Zhenya draws his knee toward his chest, and holds his leg in place with his arm. 

“That’s it,” Sid breathes, eyes fixed on Zhenya’s ass. 

Zhenya’s anticipation grows with the flush he can feel; the heat in his cheeks and down his neck. Sid’s eagerness only increases his arousal. Sid’s just looking, though, and Zhenya likes that hungry look in his eyes, but he wants more.

“Sid,” Zhenya says, and it would be embarrassing to hear the hoarse longing in his own voice if he could bring himself to care. 

Sid squeezes his thigh reassuringly, and says, “I’ve got you, G.” 

Zhenya sighs and settles in as Sid touches his asshole again, slick and warm. It doesn’t take long for Sid to push his finger in, and Zhenya breathes against the pressure, and can’t help the involuntary sound he makes as Sid pushes deeper. 

Sid’s face is flushed, now, too, and his eyes look a little glassy, fixed on his hand, thrusting a little bit, deeper and deeper. Zhenya bites his lip as Sid exhales. “God, G, you’re so—”

Zhenya can only gasp as Sid finds his prostate. “There?” Sid asks, and rubs the same spot, as Zhenya tries not to writhe. Sid abruptly withdraws his finger and Zhenya watches as he dumps more lube on his hand, graceless as he rarely is. It’s reassuring, in a way, to see a crack in Sid’s composure, as if this means as much to him as it does to Zhenya.

“Two okay?” Sid asks, and he sounds a little breathless.

“Yeah,” Zhenya says. He bites down on the “please,” that wants to come out. He won’t beg, he won’t. 

Zhenya hisses at the stretch of two of Sid’s blunt fingers, and Sid stops, hesitates. “Okay?” 

Zhenya nods. “Yes, good.”

Sid takes him at his word, but only turns his wrist a little, moving his fingers around gently without going any deeper, letting Zhenya adjust, and Zhenya’s eyes have slipped closed, but the feeling of Sid’s mouth on the head of his dick as he thrusts his fingers in has his eyes flying open. 

“Ah,” he says, involuntary, and the visual of Sid licking around the crown of his dick while his fingers search for Zhenya’s prostate again is almost too much, but he can’t possibly look away.

Sid thrusts in and out, slow and rhythmic, and it’s good, but Zhenya needs more. 

“You, ah, want another finger?” Sid asks.

Zhenya nods. Three fingers, he estimates, will get him stretched enough to take Sid’s dick. “Need more, to take your dick,” he forces himself to say aloud, to leave no question about Zhenya’s ultimate goal here. 

It gets him a groan from Sid, and he strokes his own dick with his free hand. Zhenya watches, greedy, wanting him.

“You can’t just say that shit,” Sid says.

“Yes, it’s what I want, your fat dick in my ass, it looks so good, Sid,” he says, eyes fixed on Sid’s dick, flushed red in his fist.

Zhenya watches Sid’s dick jerk at Zhenya’s words, and Sid stops and stares at him. “You’re a menace.” 

Zhenya smirks. “I know what I like, Sid,” he says. 

The color rises in Sid’s cheeks and he looks away. “You’re distracting me,” he mutters. Zhenya can’t help but huff out a laugh. It’s fun and more than a little gratifying to see Sid get flustered. 

Sid takes his hand back off his own dick and applies more lube to his fingers and goes back in with three. Zhenya arches his back a little, pushes into the feeling, and knows he has to be patient as Sid keeps stretching him, but wants Sid over him and in him, burying his dick in Zhenya’s ass. 

Zhenya moves restlessly and he’s ready for Sid’s dick in him, he’s sure of it. “Sid, I’m ready,” he says. 

“You ah. Want a condom?” Sid asks.

Zhenya got tested when they first started fooling around. “I’m clean, it’s—you do, if you want.”

Sid’s eyes fix on his face. “You’ll let me fuck you bare?” 

Zhenya lifts his chin, not breaking eye contact. “Yeah,” he says.

“God,” Sid says. “You’re so—” but he doesn’t say what Zhenya is. 

It’s probably just as well he doesn’t; maybe he thinks Zhenya’s being slutty, and Zhenya suddenly feels a little weird about it. Maybe being too eager is a turn-off and he’s fucking this up. 

Sid must be able to read something on his face, because suddenly he looks _concerned_, saying, “Hey, hey, no, G, what’s up? It’s awesome, you’re awesome, I’m just kind of, you know, overwhelmed. I didn't know this was on the table and it’s good, okay?”

Zhenya looks away and Sid’s withdrawing his fingers, but it’s only to plant his hands by Zhenya’s shoulders and lean down to kiss him fiercely. 

“I want you, G, okay?”

Zhenya meets his eyes. He doesn’t know how to put into words how much he likes this, but how vulnerable it makes him feel, too. He catches Sid’s head with his hands and pulls him back down to kiss him again. 

“It’s good, Sid, just a lot, you know?”

Sid pulls back just enough to meet his eyes, and he looks steady and serious, despite the flush in his cheeks and his dark, dark eyes. “I never even let myself think we could do this, G,” he says, low and serious. “I want it. I want _you_.”

It’s almost too much, and Zhenya reaches down to get a hand on Sid’s dick, and he spreads his legs, bracketing Sid’s hips. He draws up his knees and guides Sid’s dick toward his ass.

“Yeah,” Sid breathes, and then, “Let me just—” and he manages to find the lube. “You wanna put some on me?”

They manage to get lube into Zhenya’s hand and onto Sid’s dick, and Sid sucks in a breath. “So good, my god,” he says, voice hoarse. 

Zhenya seems to have run out of words, but he doesn’t think he really needs any. 

“Like this?” Sid asks, voice hitching a little as the head of his dick meets the pucker of Zhenya’s asshole, and Zhenya responds by pressing into the pressure, as much as he’s able. He reaches down between them to hold Sid in place and together they get Sid’s dick into him. Sid stays still, waiting for Zhenya to adjust to the stretch, which is sharp and so good, reminding him of nothing more than the stretch in his hip flexors with Sid’s hands on him downstairs. 

“You feel so good, G,” Sid says. “God.” His arms quiver with the strain of holding himself up, with the strain of staying still.

Zhenya shifts, and the slight movement of Sid inside him makes him do it again. 

Sid lets out a quiet noise, and then swears under his breath. “You good, G?”

Zhenya pushes his hips up as much as he can and says, “Yeah, Sid, move now, it’s good.”

Sid pushes in deep, and smoothly pulls back out, watching Zhenya’s face closely. His mouth falls open as he thrusts back in, and the hot pressure of Sid’s dick inside him is so different from his fingers. Zhenya feels so full and the friction, sliding against his sensitive insides, not to mention watching Sid get red-faced and sweaty over him—it’s a lot, in a good way.

It’s not long at all until Sid’s breathing grows ragged and Zhenya reaches for his dick. 

“Yeah,” Sid says, as Zhenya starts jacking himself in time with Sid’s thrusts. “I’m—I’m getting—”

Sid losing it so fast makes Zhenya’s chest warm even as his own orgasm builds. Sid groans and he’s thrusting faster, all the power of his ass and thighs fucking Zhenya so good, just like Zhenya suspected. Zhenya clenches his eyes shut as his entire body shudders, and Sid slams into him once more, groaning, and Zhenya arches up into his fist and pulses into orgasm, spurting between them. 

Sid groans and grinds in as best he can, but Zhenya can feel him softening and starting to slip out, and he lowers himself onto Zhenya’s chest, letting out a deep, shuddering breath. 

Zhenya rests his hands on Sid’s back, then sweeps up and down, from his shoulder blades, down to his ass, soothing. He’s heavy, though, and just as he’s thinking he needs to ask Sid to move, Sid heaves himself sideways and curls against Zhenya’s side, and Zhenya can draw a breath again. 

“Sorry,” Sid says, voice muffled against Zhenya’s side. “I know I’m heavy.”

Zhenya finds his hand and squeezes it, and then pulls it up to press a kiss to Sid’s palm. “It’s good, Sid. I’m like.”

Sid sighs. “I’ll get a cloth to clean up in a minute, okay?”

Zhenya doubts it. The couple of times they’d fooled around before, Sid had dozed for awhile and Zhenya had taken care of cleanup.

“It’s okay, you sleep,” Zhenya says, indulgent, and he pushes himself upright and heads into the bathroom. 

He surveys the mess on his inner thighs, dripping lower, and grimaces, before turning on the shower. He rinses himself off and blots dry, and then wets a couple of washcloths to wipe Sid off, too.

+

Zhenya’s lying on Sid, head on his chest, playing with his fingers. “Why you’re weird when I get here?” He doesn’t know if he’d be brave enough to ask it outright if Sid were looking at him. 

Sid blows out a breath, but doesn’t deny it. “I didn’t, ah.” He stops. “I wanted you to like it here, I wanted to show you around, to show you what my summer’s like up here.” 

Zhenya doesn’t follow. He doesn’t know what to say, though. “I’m like it,” he says, finally.

Sid puts his hand on Zhenya’s head, twining his fingers through Zhenya’s hair. Zhenya pushes into it, like a cat. It feels good, and he gets a little lost in it. But he still wants to know what’s going on in Sid’s head. He replays the scene from when he first arrived, their kiss and then Sid’s careful keeping him at arm’s length. 

“We never talked about what we were doing,” Sid says, finally.

Zhenya lets that sink in for a minute, and asks, “We talk now?” He promptly wishes he hadn’t inflected it as a question. So he says it again. “We talk now. I’m start. I like it here in Canada. Not as good as Russia, of course, but it’s good, see what you do, train with Andy, where you eat lunch, hike in park, fish, go out on boat. Friends, family, I see why you like it.”

He’s only been here a few days, and Sid hasn’t introduced him to many people, but he sees the calendar up on the wall, barbeques and get-togethers scribbled into evenings and weekends. He can see the frequent texts Sid gets asking him to make plans.

Sid’s arm tightens around Zhenya’s side. “I’m glad.”

“You come to Russia with me, next, and see why I’m like.” Zhenya means it as a little bit of a joke, rather than a directive, a way to lighten the mood, but Sid hugs him tighter.

“I’d like that.”

Zhenya hopes they’re not done talking, because he really does want to know how things were, in Sid’s head, and how things are now, going forward. 

“I, ah. I didn’t want you to think I was just asking you here for, like, a booty call.”

Zhenya can’t help the little laugh he lets out. “I’m not think this, Sid.”

“Well, I don’t know. We didn’t really—I didn’t know—” he sounds a little defensive.

Zhenya strokes his arm soothingly. “It’s okay, we talk now. I’m want to be with you, boyfriends. Can tell, not tell, friends and family, but this is what I’m want.”

“I thought we’d have more time to figure things out but the, uh, season ended kind of abruptly.”  
Zhenya can’t argue with that. Maybe if they’d had a few more weeks together they’d have reached a place where they were more solidly in alignment with each other. 

“So then I didn’t want to go all summer without seeing you, but it felt kind of—presumptuous, I guess, to expect you to come up here and just—”

Zhenya squeezes him. “I’m forgive you,” he says magnanimously. 

“For what?” Sid says.

“Inviting me to Canada for sex.”

“Oh my god, Geno, you’re ridiculous.”

“You’re overwhelm by how great I am, it’s okay. Now we work out, it’s all okay.” 

Sid laughs, and Zhenya’s heart feels light and buoyant. He’ll happily listen to Sid laugh at him for the rest of their lives.


End file.
